


poking the hound

by mortalitasi



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 15:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18285263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortalitasi/pseuds/mortalitasi
Summary: Yarra doing what she does best: annoying the absolute piss out of Eygon.





	poking the hound

**Author's Note:**

> tiny flashfic that got lost in the flood. forgot to upload it, oops. i'll just add to this story if i write more ficlets for them

She technically doesn’t need to sleep—it’s more of a habit from the time she was truly alive, a relic that serves only for her comfort and peace of mind, as little of that remains.  
  
It is also an incredibly convenient, considering the knight across her _does_ need to sleep (at least seven hours a night, or else he becomes even more frightfully cranky than his natural, already-terrifying state of Crank) to recover his strength.  
  
The first time she uses her pyromancy to spring the candle by his ratty cot back to life, he thinks it’s a mistake. The wick will sometimes spring back to life even after you’ve doused it—fire is a stubborn thing, often unyielding, and incredibly indisposed to following orders. He lifts himself, the length of his dark bound hair sliding over his shoulder, and extinguishes the flame. Darkness descends over the little alcove he’s claimed for himself again.  
  
She lets that sit for another minute, but boredom sets in fast. She wags her finger, and the light returns, bright and wonderfully annoying.  
  
He turns over on his side, opens his eyes, and stares at the stump of wax like it’s the most offensive thing he’s ever seen. The glow of the orange on his grey irises is quite complimentary, though. After a few seconds, he reaches out with one hand, smothering the wick between his fingers hard enough that she can hear the sizzle of its heat against his skin. He faces her, watching her with an alertness that tells her just might be onto what she’s doing.  
  
She doesn’t bother waiting for him to settle down again. _Flick_. The candle responds obediently.  
  
“ _Woman_ ,” Eygon snarls, but she isn’t taken aback. He’s all bark—not much bite. Unless she requests it.  
  
“Yes?” she asks breezily, stretching her legs out in front of her. The stone wall is quite uncomfortable to lean on. “Can I help you with something?”  
  
“You know bloody well what I’m talking about.”  
  
She sighs. He’s never any fun. “Aye, I’m not daft. I’m aware. I was hoping you wouldn’t sulk yourself into sleep and instead _tell_ me what was bothering you earlier.”  
  
Eygon’s brows furrow until she’s sure they’ll connect. “You’re… you couldn’t have asked?”  
  
She stares at him, unblinking. “Would you have answered?”  
  
He doesn’t respond. That means _no_. She smirks at him.  
  
“I won’t sleep until you’ve satisfied your curiosity. Is that it?” he says, stiffly.  
  
“If that’s how you choose to interpret my concern,” she remarks, pulling herself up to the cot. He’s frowning (surprise!), his powerful jaw taut. “Now, then…”  
  
He sighs—but doesn’t refuse her.


End file.
